


hold your breath 'til we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)

by lostandlonelybirds (RUNNFROMTHEAK)



Series: Birthday Gifts <3 [2]
Category: Batman (Comics), DCU (Comics), Nightwing (Comics), Red Hood and the Outlaws (Comics)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Didn't Know They Were Dating, Domestic Fluff, Enemies to Friends to Lovers, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Idiots in Love, Jason's Love Language is Joker's dead body, M/M, Murder is a sign of affection wdym, Mutual Pining, No Beta We Die Like Joker Should, No one said he was the most sane person in Gotham, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, References to Joker: Last Laugh 06, Roommates
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2021-02-25
Updated: 2021-02-25
Packaged: 2021-03-18 05:40:31
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,800
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29604702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/RUNNFROMTHEAK/pseuds/lostandlonelybirds
Summary: Five times Dick Grayson felt some type of love for Jason Todd, and one time Jason Todd showed them all to Dick.
Relationships: Dick Grayson/Jason Todd
Series: Birthday Gifts <3 [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1883293
Comments: 31
Kudos: 96





	hold your breath 'til we're in too deep (my love is a mood ring)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [stevieraebarnes](https://archiveofourown.org/users/stevieraebarnes/gifts).

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _“You’ve never cared,” he snarls. “You never—”_
> 
> _“Avenged you?” Dick questions softly. “But I did.”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HAPPY BDAY STEVIE YOU WONDERFUL HUMAN BEING THAT I ADORE!!! I meant to have the whole fic done by today, but school conspired against me so you only get the first chapter : (
> 
> I love you and you've been the best friend one could have since I met you! I'm so pleased we're friends and I can talk to you about whatever and enjoy it. I hope you have the best day ever you talented thing you, you deserve it!

* * *

**(1) storage - devoted love; a familial love**

* * *

The thing is: Jason Todd is dead.

The thing is: Jason Todd is holding a detonator in his right fist and a gun in his left, both pointed in Dick’s direction in a fairly menacing way.

The thing is: Dick’s vision is blurry from what may or may not be a concussion and there are little floating Batmen spinning around his head in diapers like a horrifying rendition of Cupid, so his assessments may not be entirely accurate.

Batman stares at him across the room, completely blank. It’s revealing to anyone who knows him - no tells _are_ a tell at the end of the day - and it says he’s overwhelmed. Emotionally compromised. Two things Batman is the exact antonym of on most days (for other antonyms see: fun, sociable, well-adjusted, picture-of-mental-health, and fun-at-parties).

There’s a red helmet on the ground near the desolated apartment’s crumbling wall, next to the Joker’s bound form. It’s quiet in this moment, as the diaperfied Batmen stop swirling and Dick regains focus via Batman himself. The wind is still, sleet and rain a background ambiance none of them notice. A crackle of lightening had passed, but none follow it, and thunder’s roars have long since quieted.

It's still, like the first _check_ in chess when the defender is sizing up their opposition. Jason’s shown his hand – bomb, check, gun, check, borderline suicidal desperation, _double check_ – and Bruce hasn’t yet decided what hand he’ll use. What force he’ll demonstrate. Which mask he’ll wear. Betrayed mentor? Grief-stricken father? Unstable lunatic in tights beating people up for kicks?

Dick’s feeling the strain of tension literally and emotionally, and both are painful to deal with. His leg protests every move he’s made since ignoring Alfred and hacking B’s communicator, and his mind is weighed down by the pain in Jason’s eyes. A pain echoed in B’s, not that he’ll admit it.

This isn’t the happy reunion Dick had fantasized about on odd nights with nightmare-like figments inky and black and barbed rising from his unconsciousness into waking thoughts. This isn’t a resurrection without pain, free of the manipulations and tomfuckery the Al Ghul’s indulge in so eagerly. This isn’t a father meeting a son and expressing relief or joy or actual, real, human emotions like an actual, real, human. This is a rogue soldier meeting a former commander; a drug-dealing, murder-doing, power-hungry, sadist going up against the Dark Knight of Gotham. When he’d put those fantasies to thought, to words and images rather than abstract blobs of color and sentiment, he’d pictured it like a homecoming where Alfred had made Jason’s favorite cake and Bruce had worn that tie Jason had bought with Dick for B’s birthday and Babs just _happened_ to be around being Babs and making everyone feel a bit more at ease, a bit more human. He’d pictured Jason giving that dimpled smile with sparkling blue (not _green_ , electric and dangerous, never _green_ ) eyes pulling Alfred into a hug and nodding at Bruce happily, getting tugged into hugs by the rest of them and just going with it. Minimal complaints, a bit of snark.

Of course, Tim had never factored into those daydreams, and the plaque hadn’t either. Bruce’s stoicism had been a front rather than a mask, and it had always broken. It won’t break now though, and Jason’s too hurt to be anything but this.

_A Good Soldier._

The words taint this entire scene even before the Joker tires of dramatic silence. He wonders if anything can fix this, fix them all (excluding Joker, of course, because Dick would just as soon beat him to death again as pick him in any capacity for the sake of moral philosophy. He’d been a cop, after all: one kill doth not a serial killing vigilante make). Even with his optimistic leanings regarding wrangling things like sentiment and affection out of emotionally stunted bastards that communicate primarily through violence and/or grunts, he doubts it.

That might just be the concussion he may or may not have, though. Maybe.

“Birdy-boy grew _balls_ ,” Joker croaks smugly, laughter trailing after it. He spits blood on the floor and it’s a lovely sight. Part of Dick simmers, boils with long-repressed rage, craves more blood and more silence and more _relief_. “Amazing what a little dismemberment and explosives do for a man’s development! Really, Batsy, you should be thanking me! He doesn’t seem the kind to sniffle at your cape and beg for his mommy anymore, does he?”

 _He always wins,_ he’d told Babs. The sentiment is still true. He always does, even in death he’s getting what he wants. Dick thinks he can handle the Joker winning just this once if it means never having to hear that _fucking_ laugh again.

Jason doesn’t so much as flinch, eyes locked on B, gun still pointed in Dick’s direction. Dick takes a step forward, towards Joker, and three sets of eyes glare at him.

“Little Wing—"

“Stay _back_ Pretty Bird, or I’ll blow your damn head off.”

Batman’s eyes flick off to the skyline, his way of signaling to leave. _I’ve got this_ , he says with it, and Dick rolls his eyes. No way in hell is he leaving this ticking timebomb alone. He doesn’t care what that says about his self-preservation instincts, not a whit.

Joker eyes him with disdain, amused disdain. His lips carry a smile his eyes don’t reflect, and Dick knows where both their minds linger in this shared moment.

( _Where’s that_ killer _instinct, Buffalo Wing? Where’s that_ rage _?_ )

That instinct isn’t as far off as B would like it to be, and it isn’t as far off as Dick pretends it is. It bubbles and festers and lingers, a rot visible to none but him. It isn’t all-consuming the way B had always described it as; it isn’t an abyss devoid of control or a black hole of nothingness. It’s simpler and more complex. It’s an urge, and a bit of a craving, but it isn’t _overwhelming_ , normally. There have only been three people he’s felt that soul-deep instinct to _murder_ – Tony Zucco, Joker, and Blockbuster.

(Then again, 2/3 _had_ ended up dead so maybe his control isn’t as great as he believes it to be.)

“You let him kill me,” Jason breathes out, shaking and furious. His eyes are that sad toxic green, closed off yet electric. “You let him _murder me_ , and live!”

“Jason,” B says, tense and hard and only the slightest bit _off_ (were Dick anyone else, the voice would sound normal, confident, unshaken). “Don’t—”

“Don’t do this?” Jason laughs, trembling, and the gun shakes in front of Dick. Dick, despite himself, wants to pull his successor into a hug. Wants to pull him away from this mess and just let him know he’s loved. “Why the fuck _not_?!”

“B, I’d shut up if I were you,” Dick says, taking a step towards Jason with his hands raised.

“ _Nightwing_ —”

“Shut. It.”

Jason’s eyes glare down (down? Unfair of Jason to come back taller) at him, almost fearfully. Dick’s lips slump in an unhappy expression, and he reaches out towards Jason. Jason steps back, but Dick’s one step ahead of him. The gun presses against his forehead, and Dick gives Jason a sad little smile. His successor still trembles, still seems so afraid, and Dick _aches_ for him.

Joker laughs to himself, and Dick wants to hit him. Batman beats him to it, and the clown slumps to the ground, but Dick’s focused on Jason. Jason’s eyes, narrowed and expressive and electric, locked on him like a heat-seeking missile. It sends a little thrill through his nervous system, and he’s jittery for all the wrong reasons.

“You’re coming with me,” Dick says softly, ignoring the cool metal against his forehead in favor of the trembling man wielding it. “I’ve missed you like hell, Little Wing, and I want you to come home with me.”

Vulnerability flickers across Jason’s face, uncertainty at its heels, but he hides it under anger.

“You’ve never _cared_ ,” he snarls. “You never—”

“Avenged you?” Dick questions softly. “But I did.”

“ _You—”_

Batman’s jaw sets, but he’s silent, and Joker’s too unconscious to goad them. To stop this.

Dick’s spent too long reacting to things and not enough time just acting. Acting before trauma and death and pain forces him to react. Jason’s family, and he’s not letting him be alone ay longer. Never again. Once a Robin, always a Robin.

That R means a hell of a lot more than out-source of not APA approved therapy for one billionaire playboy.

“I beat him to death when he said your name,” Dick says softly. “I went to the church, and he was in this Elvis get up and _laughing_. I knew he wanted me to kill him. He wanted _someone_ to kill him, because he thought he was dying and wanted to take someone with him. He was laughing, and he implied Tim was dead too, and all I could think was he died alone like you did and I wasn’t there to save him like I wasn’t there to save _you_. He wouldn’t shut up, and we fought, and he was on his knees with bloody lips and a fucked-up face and he said _I hit Jason a lot harder than that._ ” It’s like the air’s been sucked from the room, like he’s on top a mountain looking down. He feels hollow, feels that same grief echo rattle his bones, feels that same _rage_ boiling under it. “He looked at me, _smirked_ at me, and let your name pass through his lips like he had any right saying it. I snapped. I hit him harder than I’ve hit anyone, felt his bones break and felt his laughter cut off and I still _didn’t stop_. I had to be dragged off his body. Joker had to be resuscitated.”

A beat, his eyes looking anywhere but Jason.

“I killed him. He died. I only regret that it didn’t stick. I've always cared, Little Wing. _Always_."

The metal feels more a kiss than a bite when it's pulled from his skin, dropped to the ground alongside the detonator. Batman scoops them up with that same tension, disappointment coming off him in waves (smarming at Dick's non-existent remorse, probably, but fuck that, he's so beyond caring about that when _Jason_ is alive), and Jason just stares at Dick with an unreadable expression. Not neutral, not bad. Unknown. Undefinable.

"You killed him?" he asks, sounding very much the little boy Bruce had taken home from Crime Alley.

Dick nods, and when he tugs Jason into his arms, his Little Wing doesn't resist. And hell if he hasn't missed him more than he has the words to say.


End file.
